


Parallel Catastrophes

by Vaznetti



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling, The X-Files
Genre: AU, Crossover, F/M, M/M, Written Pre-Order of the Phoenix
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2003-07-02
Updated: 2003-07-02
Packaged: 2019-06-01 07:14:55
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 6
Words: 4,809
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15137942
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Vaznetti/pseuds/Vaznetti
Summary: A crossover between Harry Potter and the X-Files written before OOTP based on the idea that Marita Covarrubias and Narcissa Malfoy were sisters, and that one of the Well-Manicured Man's granddaughters was Pansy Parkinson; I abandoned it after OOTP was published. This is a set of fragments based in that universe, posted largely because I am a completist.





	1. The Wedding of Lucius and Narcissa

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Parsifal Parkinson makes a contact, and Marita Covarrubias wear pink.

The wedding was a disaster. Oh, not in any obvious way. It didn't rain, the band wasn't horrible, the guests didn't appear to be developing food poisoning. No fights had broken out, no family feuds erupted, no one was going to be killed the next day in a wizarding duel over some drunken slight. The bride was beautiful, the bridegroom attentive, the parents and friends all doting. 

But still, a disaster. From the folds of Narcissa's white chiffon dress to the white roses she had carried down the aisle to the tasteful quartet playing a pavanne, the whole affair oozed good taste and Malfoy money. And that, Marita thought, was the problem. 

The night before she had made one final attempt to explain her fears to her older sister, and once more Narcissa had shrugged them off. No doubt trying to use the Freudian psychology she'd picked up in Muggle Studies last year had been a mistake. "Daddy is dead, Marita," Narcissa had hissed at her. "I know that! And Lucius is nothing like him." 

"What I mean," Marita had said, "is that you're trying to use Lucius to replace Daddy. Lucius is always telling you what to do, and you like that." 

"Don't be stupid. And anyway, someone needs to take care of this family. You don't think that mother is going to do it, do you?" 

Their mother was becoming more ghostlike every year since their father's disappearance, and for a while Marita had gotten up early every morning to check and make sure that she hadn't faded away entirely. "Why can't we take care of each other, the way we used to?" 

"Oh Marita, you're such a child. When you're a woman you'll understand." 

"I'm 14," Marita had objected. "I know about sex." 

"But not about love, darling," Narcissa had said. 

Love indeed, Marita thought now, watching her sister dance with her new husband. Narcissa could not possibly be in love with that creepy Lucius Malfoy, no matter what she said. It was Malfoy's money and standing that she wanted, that was all. 

The pavanne finally ended, and the quartet struck up a waltz. Arturo Goyle was making his way purposefully toward her; she looked around for an escape and when she looked back found an older man standing in front of her. That Mr. Parkinson again, she thought. Not for the first time, she noticed that there was something snakelike about him, something in the shape of his head or the set of his eyes. She wouldn't have been surprised if he's turned out to be a Parseltongue. But he was an old friend of Lucius' family and had walked Narcissa down the aisle, in the absence of their own father. 

He held out his hand. "May I?" he asked and she was so surprised that she let him lead her out onto the dance floor. "I don't believe that I've told you how lovely you look, my dear." 

She resisted the urge to correct him. Narcissa was the pretty one, and today more than ever. Marita was the smart one, top of her year in Charms and Transfiguration and in the top three of everything else. "Thank you," she managed. 

He looked down at her. "I suppose that this marriage will cause a number of changes for you." 

Marita had an answer ready for that. "Mother and I are moving into a house on the Malfoy estate. Lucius has been very kind." 

"Lucius thinks very highly of you, you know. I suspect he finds you rather daunting." 

"Why?" she asked and bit her lip. She could always hope that he would think the question bold, rather than stupid. 

Parkinson continued as if he hadn't heard her. "And as you know, he loves you sister very much." 

Marita suspected that it would be tactless to tell Mr. Parkinson that she didn't believe Lucius capable of love, and had her doubts about Narcissa. "Yes," seemed the most innocuous comment. 

When the music ended he escorted her off the dance floor. "Lucius tells me that you've decided to pursue Muggle Studies." 

"I find it interesting." 

"It's an unusual choice for a Slytherin." 

She had an answer ready for that question, too. "Muggle Studies is an important subject. We need to understand them. They outnumber us, and what happens to them affects us." 

"Indeed." He surveyed the room. "Pity more of us didn't agree with you." 

She blushed at the praise. 

"You may not know, Marita, that my business takes me to New York on a regular basis. Would you like to come with me someday?" 

This time Marita kept her questions to herself. Maybe this was just Lucius' way of getting rid of her, or maybe there was something else Mr. Parkinson wanted. She was certain that the entire conversation had been engineered to permit this question. 

"Think about it," Mr. Parkinson told her. "I believe that you'd find New York interesting." He bowed slightly and turned to go. 

"Mr. Parkinson?" she asked. He turned back. "My sister thinks that Lucius Malfoy isn't a gambler." She could feel how pink her cheeks were. They probably matched her dress. 

"Well, not in the sense that your father was. Or is," he corrected himself. "Lucius is unlikely to disappear mysteriously after a wizarding baccarat game in Buenos Aires, for example." 

She could feel herself turning even redder, and reminded herself that she had chosen to ask the question; she could hardly object if he mentioned her father. 

"But in every other way, my dear," Mr. Parkinson continued, "Lucius Malfoy is the grandest gambler I know, and it is very clever of you to see it. Just look at this crowd." He nodded to her and wandered away. 

end.


	2. Years or Mileage

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Summer 1995: Marita catches up with Alex.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I wrote this as a birthday fic for Deslea, all the way back in 2003, probably.

Marita couldn't help but feel that seven years in Slytherin ought to have left her better prepared to deal with Alex Krycek. Even though he'd been on the run for almost a month and had just woken from a sound sleep he managed to look intimidating. That might have been due to the gun pointed unwaveringly at her.

"You don't need the gun, Alex," she said. "I'm not here to hurt you." On reflection, Apparating into his motel room was not the best idea she'd ever had.

"I don't believe that," he said. "How did you find me?"

"I know you,' she said in a soothing voice.

"You used magic on me, didn't you? What did you do to me?"

"Nothing!" she said. "I mean, I did use a charm to find you..." His eyes narrowed and his finger shifted slightly on the trigger, so she hurried the rest of the sentence out. "But it didn't do anything to you. And it wouldn't have worked if I didn't... if we weren't..." She blinked back tears. "Alex, please put down the gun."

He stared at her as if he didn't recognize her for a second. She watched his eyes cloud until he blinked too and dropped his hands to the bed, still holding the gun in his right. Marita tried not to sag too obviously with relief. "Why did you come looking for me?" he asked. Now he sounded tired and a little sad. "Why didn't you let me disappear?"

"Someone would have found you someday." His face hardened as he thought about it. "I'm sorry," she offered, as if the truth of their situation was somehow in her control.

"It's not your fault," he responded automatically. Then, perhaps in response to his own words he ducked his head and placed the gun on the bedside table. "I'm sorry, too. You took me by surprise."

Still moving carefully, she selled beside him. "That's all right. You only frightened ten years off my lifespan."

"Which still leaves you twice as long as me, even without the Smoker trying to have me killed."

"We're not that different," she protested. But his face was creased with sleep and she could suddenly imagine him, fifty years from now.

"Sure," he said. "Except for the part where you can teleport anywhere you want, and turn people into frogs and make them do anything you want and God only knows what else!"

"I didn't know it bothered you."

"It's not--" He tried again. "It doesn't-- I don't know. I wanted to leave all this behind."

"Even me?" she asked. She was not going to cry in front of him.

He sighed and stared at the sheets. "I don't know. But Marita, I nearly died back in Washington. If I'd been a few seconds slower... I'm not even thirty years old!"

She wanted to reach out to him, but the distance over the few inches of bedspread seemed infinite. "I didn't know!" she said instead. "If I had known, don't you think I would have done something?"

He met her eyes. "Parkinson knew. He had to have known."

"And if you come back with me..."

"...Then I go back to him, too."

"I won't let him hurt you again," she said. "He'll understand." She closed her eyes and summoned the image she'd had of Alex, fifty years older. She would see that face in reality, she told herself. "I'll make him understand."

"He'll never take me seriously," Alex said. "It's always been easy for you. You've always been... It doesn't matter."

She could feel herself turning pink. "It does matter! I--" she stumbled over the words. "I care about you."

"It doesn't matter because I have to go back with you anyway," he said.

She could feel actual tears on her cheeks. "I'll pretend I never found you," she said. "I promise."

She had closed her eyes against the tears, so the touch of his fingers as he brushed them away surprised you. "No," he said. "You were right. Someone will find me someday." He pulled her against him and held her. "At least this way I'll be with you," he whispered.

Marita Covarrubias had never sniffled in her life, not even when she'd gone back to Hogwarts the year after her father had disappeared and Theseus Pilchard had tormented her every day. She was not going to start now. She was not going to ask for reassurance. She pulled away from Alex and sat up straight.

He let her go, but kept hold of one hand. "I mean it," he said. "It makes it better, knowing that you..." he hesitated. "Being able to see you."

"Does what I am really bother you so much?"

"No," he said, his voice so firm that she decided to believe him. Then he sighed. "It's weird. But this whole situation is weird. A little more weirdness doesn't make much difference."

"I care about you, Alex," she said. "It doesn't matter where you come from or what you are."

His smile made her heart feel strangely heavy. "I love you too, Marita." As if it was the most natural thing in the world. As if he had no idea that her entire world was shifting, here in this dingy Muggle motel room.

"I..." she stopped, tongue-tied, and smiled at him again, hoping he would understand her. Seven years in Slytherin was really no use at all when it came to Alex Krycek.

end


	3. Afternoon Tea

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Marita makes a confession, and Narcissa tries to be understanding.

"A Muggle lover? Really, Marita, don't you think that's taking your involvement in Parsifal's little conspiracy a bit too far? I hope you aren't intending to bring him here." Narcissa's gaze flickered around the room as if she expected strange Muggles to leap out from behind the velvet curtains and flowered chairs. The idea of Alex in her sister's sitting room coaxed a smile out of Marita; she could feel the anger which had prompted her to make the announcement draining out of her. 

"I was hoping to bring him to that party you're planning to throw Lucius," she said. 

Narcissa flushed. "Please say that that's a joke, darling. You know how Lucius is." 

"Lucius is a xenophobic bore. It would be tolerable if he knew anything at all about Muggles, but as it is he just looks like an idiot." 

"If you knew anything about what was going on in the Wizarding world, Marita, you would realize that you're the one who's mistaken. Lucius is well-respected in our world." Narcissa stared down her nose at her sister. "Please don't pick a fight with him this evening." 

"That isn't very attractive," Marita said, "the way you're looking at me." 

"Neither is your know-it-all behavior, Marita. Just because you're an Unspeakable, you think you know everything that's going on. I can assure you that..." She closed her mouth. 

Marita took a sip of tea. Damn. Now she was going to have to attend Lucius' party, just to see who was there and what Lucius was planning. And she really couldn't bring Alex, despite her threats. "I'm sure Lucius is perfectly well-respected, sweetheart. I just think he's wrong on certain issues." 

"Is that your head talking, or your heart?" 

"What?" Marita did her best not to laugh; Narcissa's sense of romanticism would drive her insane one day. 

"Well, darling, you must admit that this Muggle lover of yours changes things. Your children won't be purebred. And so of course you're more likely to favor extending the privileges of the halfbreed and Muggle-born." 

The tea Marita was swallowing caught in her throat. When she had finished coughing, she said, "Children? I'm hardly planning to... can we talk about something else?" 

Narcissa pursed her lips. "I suppose I ought to be glad that you aren't serious about this Muggle. Perhaps I ought to find you someone more suitable to bring to Lucius' birthday." 

"I'd be grateful if you refrained." She already regretted mentioning Alex to her sister. At least the very notion of taking a Muggle to bed would be so disgusting to Narcissa that there was no reason to discuss all the other ways in which Alex was unsuitable. She could imagine him glowering in a corner as Narcissa's latest string quartet played and the house-elves floated the trays of hors d'oeuvres around the room. Or worse, when most of the guests had gone and only Lucius' closest companions remained... No. She really couldn't bring Alex here. 

"I only want to help you, darling." 

"I know that, Narcissa." 

"I know you can't really discuss your work, what you're doing for Parsifal. But I'm not a fool, Marita, and I can see what it's doing to you. I just wish that you had something... for yourself." 

Marita stared at her sister, Was Narcissa trying to be understanding? "My work is extremely fulfilling." 

Narcissa's nose wrinkled slightly at the word 'work.' "I'm sure it is." Then her face cleared. "Tell me," she said, "your lover. Is he... different?" 

"What do you mean?" Surely Nacissa didn't mean... 

"Well, being with a man who isn't..." She waved her hand. "...Who can't use charms, and all the rest of it. Do you manage to..." 

Marita watched her sister turn pink. "Narcissa, are you asking me what sex with a Muggle is like?" 

"One does wonder, you know." 

What kind of lurid novels had her sister been reading, anyway? "The charms are not as important as you might think." 

"Really?" 

"That's all we're going to say about it," Marita said firmly. "I cannot believe that we're having this conversation." It was entirely too tempting to confide in Narcissa. She had no intention of sharing the kind of sordid detail Narcissa was interested in, although she might describe Alex's intensity, the way he focused on her as if she was the only thing in the universe when they were together. But Founders knew she wanted someone with whom she could share her worries for Alex, but she would have to tell Narcissa the reasons behind her worries: the work he had been forced into, her fears about Parsifal and his intentions, the violent divisions within the conspiracy. Those were subjects Narcissa must remain ignorant of: "Unspeakable" was more than a job description in Marita's world. She had already said too much. 

"You always were a prude, Marita." Narcissa sounded disappointed. "I wasn't asking for Ministry secrets, you know." 

"I know. I..." 

"You used to come to me with all your secrets, do you remember?" 

"I grew up." 

Narcissa sniffed. "It was bound to happen. I suppose there was nothing either of us could have done about it." She looked Marita up and down. "That haircut, though. Did you have to, darling?" 

She smiled as Marita began to laugh. 


	4. Hogsmeade Meeting

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Marita tries to cover her tracks, and Snape is not flattered.

Her contact was waiting on the outskirts of Hogsmeade. "You're late again, Covarrubias. Some of us have hordes of screaming children to control." 

"It's Sunday, Snape," she responded. "You don't teach today. The fresh air will do you good." 

"I sincerely doubt it. Are those the new samples?" 

She handed over the warded container. "Are you making any progress?" 

"I believe I understand the way the consciousness melds itself to the matrix of the oil. It's quite ingenious." 

"It's dangerous," she said. 

"The most interesting things are, I find. If that's all?" 

"A question, Snape," she said. He turned back to her in a whirl of black. She took a deep breath. "Narcissa is making a large party for Lucius. I must appear, and I must appear with an escort. 

He tilted his head to one side. "Are you asking me to be that escort, Covarrubias?" 

"Not for any romantic reasons, I assure you. But I must bring someone." 

"How flattering." 

"Don't be awkward, Snape, please. I know you have no more interest in me than I have in you, but I need an insider and you've gone to some trouble to ensure that Lucius considers you pliable." 

"Not bad, Covarrubias. Insult and blackmail. Unfortunately for you, I intend to have other plans that evening. Why so desperate, anyway? Narcissa must have found you someone especially dreadful." 

"I need to distract her," she answered. 

Watching Snape think was less enjoyable when his intelligence was focused on her own life, Marita found. She could almost see him raising and discarding possibilities. "It isn't someone she's found, is it? It's someone you've found. Who is it, a Gryffindor? No, it would be worse than that. A Muggle-born?" 

"Worse." 

"A Muggle? I see why you're desperate enough to ask me." 

"Your ability to combine rudeness with self-pity never ceases to amaze me, Snape. I thought you might be interested in whatever Lucius is planning." 

"Lucius only has one plan, and I already know it. Your problem, however, interests me." 

"I've already had a full dose of horror mixed with prurient interest from Narcissa, thank you. As you've given me your answer, could we consider the subject closed?" 

"I might change my mind, Marita," he said. 

"To be perfectly honest, I'd forgotten how unpleasant you can be when I decided to ask you." 

Snape barked out a laugh. "I had no idea you were capable of perfect honesty. Very well. If nothing else it will generate a refreshing amount of confusion." 

"You mean..." 

"Have you become an idiot? Your desperation touches my heart. I will aid and abet this deception of yours." 

"You _are_ only doing this to gain an advantage, aren't you?" 

"What else would you expect?" he said. "I doubt we will meet before the party itself. Until then?" He bowed slightly before turning to go. 

"Until then," she told his back. 

end.


	5. A Drink with Malfoy

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> I suppose it's no different from talking in front of the house-elves.

"Tell me again why you're doing this. And why you're wearing a dress?" Alex Krycek, in his usual jacket and jeans, stood in the doorway; he was staring at his patron in what the older man thought might be amusement. 

"I was at school with Lucius' father. Our families have been connected for centuries. Long before the aliens returned to this planet, the Malfoys and the Parkinsons were allied. And these are wizarding robes, Alex. Do try to keep an open mind." 

"My mind has been opened enough, thanks." 

"Lucius Malfoy is an important man in his own world, but even there he is intolerant." 

"Is that your way of telling me not to shoot him if he insults me?" 

"You might consider it that, yes." 

"Warning noted," Krycek said. 

A bell chimed next to the fireplace. "Ah. Here he is." 

There was a puff of smoke and a tall man stepped from the hearth. He regarded the room with disapproval as he brushed a few specks of ash from his long white-blond hair. "Parsifal," he nodded. "It was good of you to agree to meet with me." 

"You know I could hardly refuse you, Lucius. Shall we go to my study?" 

"Of course." With a curt nod toward Krycek he turned to go. 

"Alex will of course be joining us," Parkinson said. 

"This is no concern of your... what does one call them? Your Muggle hit-man." 

"I prefer assassin, myself," Krycek said. 

Malfoy's upper lip curved into a sneer. 

Krycek kept his face blank. 

"Alex knows all my business, Lucius." 

"But not mine," Malfoy said. 

"I can assure you of his discretion." 

Krycek stared coolly at the other man until Lucius nodded his head. "Very well. I suppose it's no different from talking in front of the house-elves." 

A muscle jumped in Krycek's cheek but under Parkinson's glare he remained silent. 

In the study Lucius accepted a glass of whiskey and settled into one of the generous leather chairs. "I'm sure you're aware, Parsifal, that recent events have shifted the balance of power in the wizarding world. I feel, and there are many who agree with me, that it's time you took more of an interest in your own kind." 

"My interest in our own kind, as you put it, would be greater if more of us were willing to pay attention to the threat we all face." 

"To help you solve what is, in the end, a Muggle problem?" 

"The colonists make no distinction between magical and Muggle," Parkinson said. "But the fact that they remain unaware of our existence could be used against them in the end." 

Malfoy smiled. "And wouldn't that be easier and more effective, if the magical world were united under a strong leader?" 

"Are you planning to go into politics, Lucius?" 

"The Ministry is run by incompetents. I'm talking about a real leader, a strong hand. You know already that Lord Voldemort was only injured by the Potter child. He has regained his strength and soon he will be able to move openly." 

Parkinson's glass hit the desk with a sharp clink. "Not that Voldemort business again, Lucius. This is hardly the moment to precipitate a civil war in the wizarding world." 

"When Voldemort rises again, who will dare to oppose him?" 

"Albus Dumbledore, for one. And quite a few of the witches and wizards he's turned out of Hogwarts since becoming headmaster. And I myself was never quite so taken with Voldemort as the rest of you were." 

Malfoy rose to his feet. "Dumbledore is an old fool. And you, Uncle Parsifal... Your involvement in this Muggle conspiracy of yours has led you to forget where your true loyalties should lie. What happens in the Muggle world is no concern of ours." 

"Was this the proposition you wished to discuss with me, Lucius? That I agree to join Voldemort's willing servants? You should have known me better." 

"You were willing to accept him in the old days." 

"In the past I have been willing to accept any number of things which no longer seem quite so palatable. My answer is no." 

"You may regret this. I will do what I can but..." Lucius shrugged. "Lord Voldemort is not known for sentimentality." 

"Indeed." Parsifal stood up. "I regret that it's come to this. My regards to Narcissa, as always." 

Lucius bowed slightly. "No need to move. I can show myself out." He turned and, finding Krycek leaning against the door, shouldered past him on the way out. 

"Should I make sure he leaves?" Krycek asked. 

Parkinson shook his head. "No need. Lucius no doubt considers spying beneath him." He sighed. "We will have to keep an eye on him." 

"Resist or serve all over again?" 

"You might say so. I'm not pleased to find myself fighting on two fronts. But if it must be, it must. Marita will be able to help with this." He looked at Krycek in time to see the other man's quick frown. "The two of you will have to resolve your differences if we are all to work together. The fate of the planet outweighs your petty betrayals." 

"If you say so," Krycek said. "If you aren't expecting any more guests, I have things to take care of." 

end.


	6. Beer in Amsterdam

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Hermione has a rather inspired idea.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This piece is a bit of a tonal departure, I think; it feels very late 90s/early 200s slash to me, a little old-fashioned even when I wrote it back in 2003. It also references a long and unfinished (or at least unposted) story I wrote set in the same universe, in which Hermione & Viktor (in Bulgaria the summer after GOF) get caught up in one of Krycek's misadventures.

It had been Hermione's idea. "Alex might be able to help. He knows how to disappear into the Muggle world." 

Sirius looked dubious. "Just because Voldemort and the Ministry are both looking for me? They haven't caught me yet." 

"But last time, they came close." 

He was silent for a moment. "How did you meet this guy, anyway?" 

"In Bulgaria, with Viktor." 

"The Quidditch star." 

Hermione rolled her eyes. "I don't know why I should only have dated Ron or Harry at school. Viktor was very sweet, you know. It's not like I was dating Malfoy or something." 

"Fine," Sirius said. "I'll meet this guy Krycek." Anything to get her to change the subject. He listened half-heartedly to her explanations until something caught his attention. "Russia? A bit too close to Durmstrang. There are a lot of dark wizards in Russia right now." 

"It's the last place anyone would look for you. And we could use someone on the ground keeping an eye out for those dark wizards." 

"I don't speak Russian." 

"You'll learn," she told him. 

Which was how he found himself in a bar in Amsterdam, waiting for this friend of Viktor Krum's. Good looking, I guess, Hermione had said. Small features, green eyes, dark hair. She hadn't said, he walks like a killer, but maybe she hadn't known what that meant. She hadn't said wary, or beautiful, or wounded, maybe past repair. 

They sat encased in the dark wood of a booth, drinking their beers, keeping one eye on each other and the other on the door. Krycek put down his bottle. "She says you need to disappear." 

"This is a crazy idea. I can't hide in Russia." 

"Oh, it's easy to hide in Russia. The hard thing is finding your way back out." The twist in Krycek's smile told Sirius that this wasn't a joke. 

"What's in it for you?" 

The same twist of a smile, which never reached Krycek's eyes. "I could use someone with your talents. You want to stay away from other wizards, right?" 

"Maybe. What kind of business are you in, anyway?" Hermione had been vague on the subject. 

That was when the smile turned real, giving Sirius a glimpse of the flesh-and-blood man under the beautiful killer's face. "The usual thing: outclassed, outnumbered, losing a war that never seems to end. Resist or serve, fight or die. You know, that business." 

"Not the war I'm fighting, though." 

Krycek lifted the bottle to his lips, stretched out his throat as he swallowed. "No," he said when he was done. "But it might be." There was a little liquid shining at the corner of his mouth. 

"Not while..." Sirius paused. 

"While Voldemort is still out there making trouble?" 

"You know a lot about my business." 

Krycek shrugged one shoulder. "I hear rumors." 

"Hermione has a high opinion of you." 

For a second, he thought Krycek might give him an honest answer. Then his mouth twisted again. "I guess witches like me." 

Sirius reached across the table to take the beer from Krycek's hand. He drained it and placed it back in front of the other man with an audible clink. "What about wizards?" 

Krycek's lips were parted. "Wizards... I don't have the same luck with wizards." 

"Want another?" Sirius tried to sound casual. 

"Another beer? No." 

Just outside the door, when they were alone on the street, Sirius caught a fistful of Krycek's jacket. "One thing. No Unforgivables." 

"No killing, no torture, no mind control. Anything else you don't do?" 

"Try me and see. I'll let you know if something seems wrong." 

Krycek looked like he was trying not to laugh. Watching humor chase caution and temptation across his eyes, Sirius was revising his first opinion-- wounded, but not past repair--when Krycek leaned forward and kissed him. He tasted of beer, their teeth knocked together before their tongues met, and just for the duration, Sirius forgot to worry about who might be sneaking up on him. Then he broke away, needing air, and Krycek asked, "Did that seem wrong?" 

"Very much so." He was still clutching Krycek's jacket. "Still willing to help me hide?" 

"Anything to keep Hermione happy." Krycek answered. 

end.


End file.
